Orodruin
by Renn Ireigh
Summary: The first time the One Ring got near the fires of Mount Doom, the results weren't anywhere near as good as they were the second time...


Orodruin

Renegade

_Disclaimer: _Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.  

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The flame below stretched up, striking the sheer sides of the cliff on which we stood.  The Ring called it; of that, I was certain.  For what other reason would Orodruin's fires reach upward so?  

They were the fire of fear, licking at the very soul with crimsonorange tongues.  They burned brightly; indeed, brighter than any fire I have ever seen or wish to see, but they carried no heat.  No- these were cold flames, bringing not warmth but the death-chill of Mordor.  The darkness around us was pervaded only by those hellflames and lava, and the evil, gleaming glow of the One Ring.  

It glows with a steady, chilling, eerie blackevil light, looking through skin and bone to the soul within and laughing- ever laughing, for the struggles of mortals and Elves are of no concern to the Ring.  The inscription upon it, in its flowing Elven script, stands out clearly against the smooth golden metal- so close to its forge, it displays its true nature eagerly.  It looks almost beautiful with its clear shining surface and the gracefully curving inscription chiseled neatly in.  But all that is gold does not glitter, and with some shining gold, it would be better if it did not sparkle temptingly.  

I squint, peering through the blackness, for unlike some of my brethren, I am not night-sighted, and my eyesight in the dark is like that of a Man.  _Is that Isildur?  Or- _my breath catches in my throat- _or is it a Mordor-demon?  _In this shadow, I cannot tell.  With my sword drawn, gleaming softly silver in the darkness, I walk cautiously forward.  Then I relax; it is my mortal companion Isildur whose form I glimpse in the shadows of Orodruin.

With every step towards it, the Ring's call to my mind becomes stronger.  It wants to corrupt with every evil bit of which it is comprised.  But I do not desire to become a Wraith, a servant of Sauron.  No, I will defy him to the last.  I ignore the Ring.  

My heart races and blood pounds in my veins as I approach the cliff's end.  My nervousness is justified: each footstep brings me closer to the edge of what Men call Mount Doom.  One foot astray, and I will fall, a prisoner of the flame below.

Are those the screams of the dead I hear in the fire?  It sounds as though that is true.  There is certainly the sound of pain in the howling flame of Mordor.  The forge of the One Ring calls to its creation, the flames stretching higher than before.  I can only hope that the forge will unmake that which it once made.

A deep breath, and a cry to Isildur- _Cast it in!  _The words tear from my throat, audible even over the cracklehiss of Orodruin's fiery lava below.  Isildur gives no sign that he has heard, standing motionless, a living stone pillar at the summit of Hell.

Imploringly, urgingly, I scream the words again- _Cast it in!  _Elendil's son abouts, once-silver Narsil dark and broken at his side.  With a sinking heart and a leaden stomach, I realize his answer before he speaks it.  A shudder down my spine- his eyes, blackfiery, Satanic, an evil smirk twisting the noble warrior's face into a mask of blackly menacing evil.  There is nothing Manlike about him any longer.  His face is carved of stone; such is its impassivity and hardness of edge.  I no longer know him.  The Ring has found willingness where in my heart, it found none.

His lips twitch in what could perhaps be called a mocking smile.  _No, _he says, quietly, hushedly triumphant, softly rebellious, with madly flaming dark eyes unlike the soft blue his irises once held.  

_Isildur!  _I cry, desperately, pleadingly.  _Cast it in!  _

But I know that I cannot win, now that the Ring has taken his heart.  The Ring has won, as Isildur turns from the edge of Orodruin and walks out.  It has won, as it is welcomed onto his first finger, and he disappears without a trace.

I sink to the rocky hard ground, eyes full to their deepest depths, despair deadening my senses, diamond Elven tears for my doomforsaken world.  Suddenly I cannot bear the sight of Orodruin's fires and black stone ground, as I realize that with the One Ring of Power alive, my Imladris may one day bear the appearance of this evil place.  In a shuddery voice, I whisper- _This evil event- someday, it will be the undoing of all things.  It will be the death of Middle-earth._

One Ring to rule them all 

_One Ring to find them_

_One Ring to bring them all_

_And in the darkness, bind them._


End file.
